The Gifted
by WritingRose08
Summary: Not JUST a zombie story. Forbidden loves blossom, and mysterious gifts are granted- like superhuman strength and speed. How will anyone survive without these gifts, and why do only certain people receive them? Will The Gifted save the world?
1. Prologue: Kayla

**PROLOGUE**

"If the gods are there, help me..."

Kayla glanced over balled up, empty McDonald's bags, her laptop computer carrying case, and the bright pink purse tucked between the seats. Her mother had always taught her to be prepared for anything, but unfortunately she'd forgotten her baseball bat and Mace this morning.

Too bad she'd caved under Dr. Mommy's nagging her to apply to med school, instead of becoming a cop. A trusty firearm at her side would be more than a little reassuring right now.

The pounding and squeaking against the windshield sent shivers up her spine, and she swallowed as she reasoned, _this is just a joke, get a grip. If this was real, this guy would have croaked already._ The gaping neck wound and milky eyes were enough evidence for her to form that brilliant deduction.

Yes, this joke was about as lame as Diana's ghost stories.

The bloody man resembled Ranger Ted, with his slight pudginess and disheveled, salt and pepper hair, but he must have purchased his get up from a professional costume maker. Retrieving a gray remote from her purse, she eyed the three fingers that dangled loosely from the man's hand and splayed out on the glass each time the jokester struck it, leaving smudges of fake blood.

The park gate's black, spiked bars seemed to sprout from the top of his head, and he eyed her like a cat who'd just spied its prey, his snarl revealing yellow, red-tinged teeth.

"Good one, Ted!" she called with a shudder. "But I haven't even had my coffee, and I'm not in the mood! Now get out of the way before I run you over!"

When his growl filtered through the clear barrier, his insistent bangs rocking the car, she frowned. Her stomach lurched as she watched white tree buds rise and sink above the silly man's head. Usually Ted couldn't carry on a joke without bursting into hysterics. Last year on April Fool's Day, Kayla had gathered her things after a long morning stuffed inside the Nature Center with cute, giggling preschoolers, only to step outside and find a two foot, extra-fluffy squirrel shaking its fist from beneath a tulip-encircled tree. The prank hadn't lasted more than a moment, because Ted nearly fell out of the tree with the puppet strings wrapped around his fingers.

"Your expression," he'd roared as she rolled her eyes and tapped her foot on the cement. "You should see your expression!"

The rocking ceased, and she smirked. Ranger Dingbat.

She pushed the button, and the iron gates whirred open and stopped with a clang; but then the Dingbat became more vicious in his so-called attempts to get in, clawing more frantically and snarling like that stupid Doberman Pincer her mom had sworn to shoot between the eyes if he managed to chew himself loose again. Last time, the poor creature had leapt over the fence and-

"Hey!" She protested as the man climbed all the way up on the car hood and began punching the glass. "Get off now, Dufus... whoever you are! This is a new car!"

Her shiny, blue Sunbird Convertible was being devastated by this idiot!

As she reached for the door handle, the glass splintered- one, long, lightning bolt down the middle of the windshield. Ted wouldn't take the joke this far.

Drive, drive! Her mind screamed. _Not with him on the car, you idiot!_

Driving through the open portal would trap her inside the completely gated park with this lunatic, so she ensured the doors were locked, wrapped one hand around the steering wheel and stomped on the gas. The car lurched forward, her scream lashing out as she whipped the vehicle around and dislodged the maniac from her hood. He rolled over, his head smacking the asphalt and receiving a fresh wound as she righted the Sunbird, her hands slipping from the leather wheel.

Cursing, she flew down a pink, cherry-blossom-lined lane filled with squawking birds, and glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see the weirdo stand and begin limping in her direction.

Her breath caught and she snapped her focus back to the street ahead, shoving her strawberry locks out of her face. A man bolted into the road.

Shrieking along with the tires as she jammed on the breaks, she peeked over her shoulder. The man behind her seemed to be gaining speed, and the man in front of her held out his hand like a traffic cop, his shoulders drooping as he limped toward the driver's side window.

Just as she lamented the finding of another freak, he shook his head, pleading, blue eyes meeting hers as he bent and wrapped on the window. "Open up!"

She shook her head, glancing behind them again. "Either get in or get out of the way! There's a-"

"I can't!" He yelled, his wagging head shaking loose a dark curl. "I can't! Roll down the window!"

"What!"

"Just do it!" He shouted. "Do it now!"

"What the hell?"

"Trust me, OK? I can help you!"

She must have been crazy or delirious, or so used to being Kayla the pushover that she couldn't think straight; but there was something about this man...

The sun illuminated his hair as though he wore a halo, and his bushy brow curled in a stern look that begged her compliance. His white, priest collar suggested integrity, but who knew?

Acid crept up her throat when she spotted the creep limping and snarling like something from The Night of the Living Dead. He must have been about forty feet and closing, and here this man was, standing out here like... like... She pressed the window button and with the disappearing glass came the strong scent of lilacs. Large, calloused hands cupped under her jaws, and the man frowned down at her with tears shining in his eyes. "It's started," he said huskily.

She blinked several times, squirming under the feel of his hands but not sure what the heck to do. "There- there's a lunatic down there-"

"I have something for you."

Before she knew it, he'd pressed his mouth into hers, and she froze like those bronze statues that dotted the park. Froze so stiffly that the breath seemed to have drained from her lungs, and she gripped the man's arms in a plea for mercy.


	2. Chapter 1: Diana

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Diana**

_Slipping, sliding, sloshing, splashing through the swamp. _

_Warm, sticky air _

_Tall weeds rising _

_Gallump! Gallump! Gallump! _

_Tossed rocks drop into the water, _

_Making circles within circles _

_That reach out further and further _

_Until they diminish in the murky water. _

_Blue sky above. _

_Dead trees. _

_No birds. _

_My life has touched a few, _

_Yet I am dead._

_-_Diana Hawthorne

Six AM. Diana sat up in the semi-darkness of her bedroom, pushing her thick spirals away from her face and reaching for the cool water on her nightstand. With her hand wrapped around the glass, she stared back at shiny, red and brown and hollow, dark eyes. A soft growling sound sent chills up her spine, and she swallowed hard as she peeked toward the open closet.

Open.

Wide open.

_Her clothes seemed to bow like a curtain in the onslaught of wind rushing through an open window. Diana gripped her blankets as a dark, shapeless figure hovered half way in and half way out of the closet. Unleashing a scream, she kicked the blankets off, then leaped off of the bed as her heart leaped from her chest. She scrambled into the hallway and lost her balance, sliding on the carpet as she fell, gasping for breath and grasping to regain control of her mind. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. She was seeing things!_

_"Diana!"_

_Something grabbed her from behind. The erupting scream chafed her throat and echoed down the hall._

_"Diana! Stop! What's wrong? Tell me!"_

_Blue eyes invaded her line of sight, warm hands clasping and caressing her arms. "What happened, Diana?"_

Swallowing hard, she eyed the outline of her clothes, some of which draped over the top of the blue tote that housed her secrets.

_Her mind now in a whirlwind of confusion as it scurried to sort fact from fiction, she stared with her mouth hanging open. John released her and waltzed into her bedroom, where he peered into the closet, under the bed, out the window. Apparently satisfied that all was in order, he returned to her with his big hands fixed on his lower hips._

_"What happened, Diana? Tell me!"_

The end of the bed concealed the area immediately in front of her closet, but the green sleeping bag poking out toward the hallway reminded her why the closet hadn't been shut. She'd thought she'd be safe with John in the room.

_Real smart, Diana_, she thought. _You panicked, and now John's going to be on you like green on grass!_

She'd probably just dreamt the whole thing, that's all. Either she was mad or haunted like poor, sweet Hamlet, but being haunted didn't necessarily mean by literal ghosts. Her lies were mounding on her shoulders just like the furry fiends with the marble eyes that haunted her waist-high dresser.

Her fears and her guilt had concocted the phantom. Yes... that had to be it. She shouldn't have screamed. She should have splashed water on her face, gotten some tea, and stayed up with John... then she could have fallen asleep next to him and pretended that she'd just been too tired to return to her own room.

She stood and returned the dark stares from her stuffed animals and noted that her mother's old, pink raccoon had fallen to the floor. Fallen. Just lying there like it had been pushed. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head at her irrational thinking. Things could not be as bad as her head kept telling her. Couldn't be.

_God, please tell me you don't hate me. Tell me that you'll protect me from whatever is happening. Tell me I haven't committed the unpardonable sin!_

Another soft growl sounded, followed by a cough and then a sharp intake of breath. She wiped a wayward tear and tip-toed toward the end of her bed, where she squatted. John's bare chest announced his discomfort in her warm room. He'd removed his pajama top and shoved the top layer of the bag toward his waist, allowing her Garfield nightlight to bathe the carpenter's biceps in a soft glow.

With his mouth partially open and his blond hair sticking up in spikes, he reached out as though searching for his blanket, and then turned toward the bed and curled into somewhat of a fetal position. Stretching her arm, she felt the layer of whiskers on his cheek, and then pulled back. He... he'd always been so kind and protective, like the big brother she'd never had... and she'd been lying to him for three years. Three years. So many times she'd wanted to pour her heart out to him, so many times she'd been so close... but she always wound up keeping her secret.

Right now, she could imagine flinging herself into his arms, weeping against his chest and awaking him with the announcement that would either make or break their relationship. Either he'd be angry and upset and storm around the house for days or weeks- or he'd hold her and _try _to be glad that she'd at least cracked. That she'd finally told the whole truth.

She sniffled. He stirred, so she found her feet and scurried out of the room, smelling and hearing bacon and eggs sizzling. Elaine was up making breakfast at the crack of dawn, as usual. It was a wonder her "parents" hadn't heard the commotion last night- but even if they had, they'd probably just allow John to handle it. Ever since her mother's death, John had been her only comforter, and everyone seemed to sense that's how it should be. Brotherly Love was fine- but she didn't need someone else taking over the role of her mother.

After she'd showered and put on her baggy jeans and a loose, red 'peasant' top, she felt a little more clear-headed but knew it would be difficult today to act 'normal'. At least she'd be out of John's radar, working at the grocery store while he pounded away with his hammer... but even painting on a happy face for her co-workers would be a chore. Not only was she tired and unsure what the heck to think about herself... but she'd have to ignore the usual ogling from the opposite sex. Her latina heritage, with the tanned skin and thick, dark curls, seemed to draw attention from just about every male in the world.

Men are jerks, especially Greg, and John and David are the exception to the rule, she'd said over and over again. John had his downfalls, like anyone, but at least he didn't make lewd comments about women everywhere they went, and at least he didn't make an idiot of himself by making catcalls out his van window.

Strangely, however, he hadn't even dated anyone in the past year. His cousin, Rebekah Rose, had once jokingly asked if he was gay- and he'd simply leered at her and replied, "Not in a billion years, Bekah. Kissing another guy would be like eating a bucket of vomit."

Though Diana had found herself interested in his reply, she'd known all along he wasn't gay, and it was a wonder Rebekah, girl or not, didn't get a black eye for the suggestion! John was as straight-laced as a guy could get- but not before screwing up during high school. He'd dated, slept around, fooled with drugs and alcohol, and then hit a brick wall when his dad took away his keys and shoved him into rehab. Since then, John had been going to church and steering clear of immodest women and alcohol.

Sighing, Diana shook her head at her thoughts and wandered downstairs while pulling her thick spirals into a pony tail. The clean, mauve and blue living and dining rooms were empty and silent, but the swishing and swashing sound coming from downstairs told her that Elaine was probably doing the laundry. Elaine was always busy around the house, cooking, cleaning, sewing, or helping David with the business.

Diana ripped the head off of the ceramic polar bear- which had been left out since Christmas- and pulled out one of the chocolate chip cookies she had made the night before. As she sank her teeth into one of the cookies, she eyed the freshly fried bacon and eggs sitting on a platter, and wondered why David wasn't up yet. Soon he and John would be leaving for another long work day, and she wished she could earn enough money to free them from hard labor; but they seemed to love what they were doing, and she wouldn't earn much until she got through college- and she wasn't even sure she'd ever go, unlike Kayla, who'd enrolled in medical school.

If all went well, her best friend would someday earn enough money to buy a semi-mansion, while poor John and David spent too much time working on the kinds of homes that they may never own. At the Carpenters', there were no crystal chandeliers, winding staircases, marble floors, antique furniture or fancy water fountains. The kitchen was not expansive with an island in the middle, and there was no master bedroom with a hot tub. Their house was a simple two-story family home in a nice (although not 'upscale') neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio, with a basement, large backyard, four bedrooms (one of which was now an office), and one-and-a-half bathrooms. Of course, John and his father had added quite a few perks to the house, such as the backyard deck, the finished basement, and a laundry chute. It was nice that, even though there was no island in the kitchen, they could stand at the kitchen counter and look into the living and dining rooms. Wide-open area, lots of cabinet and pantry space.

Plenty of hiding places for the phantom to sneak into. She shut one of the cupboards and shivered. Time to get the crap out of here for a while.

She went downstairs to the rec-room, which branched off into the laundry room. Elaine lie on the large, leather sofa that lined the back wall, with one arm draped over her eyes and the other draping toward the cold, tile floor. She wore her usual business-like pantsuit, but her graying blonde hair had been disheveled. Though the older woman was normally upbeat and busy, she'd sometimes lie down for quick naps. Seemed pretty early for a nap, but Diana wouldn't complain.

Easy get-away.

She dashed to the door and stepped into the backyard. The early morning air chilled her slightly, and she hugged herself as the dog next door barked and wagged his tail for attention. She ignored him, however, and headed straight for the little shed/clubhouse that David and John had built when she was a child- the same clubhouse where she and John had spent nights in the loft with friends, sleeping bags, and plenty of junk food.

The loveseat still sat beside the wood-burning stove. Old magazines and books were stacked on a nearby shelf, and there was a radio and a small refrigerator. She pulled the chain dangling from the ceiling, and the light revealed the dust covering everything in the small, cozy hide-away.

Deciding to clean in a few minutes, she stepped toward the loveseat and found some old toys in a box beside the loveseat, remembering the time she'd buried John's G.I. Joe men in the backyard. For revenge, he'd held her Strawberry Patch Doll 'hostage'.

She missed the little girl she once was. The old Diana was sweet and happy, despite some hard times mingled with self-doubt and teasing from obnoxious kids. The Old Diana used to skip around, jump into neatly-raked leaf piles, and squeeze toothpaste into John's mouth as he slept. The old Diana could brush off of a bad day or a firm scolding with her determination to have fun. No one would stand between her and a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream or a cartoon marathon. No one would ruin her determination to beat John at tennis or earn straight-A's in high school. No one and nothing.

But the old Diana Hawthorne was dead.

Her knees buckled and she sank to floor. Choking back her sobs, her face hot and her body trembling, she watched a tear splash against the wood grains, which gave way to eyes, noses, and mouths contorted in agony- people in Hell reminding her that she would soon be with them.

Shaking her head, she wiped her cheeks and wondered if demons could make her see things, or maybe...maybe those stories she'd read in Greg's parapsychology books weren't just stories after all- stories of ghostly faces appearing in floors and in walls.

Either she was mad or she was haunted...

She shivered and squared her shoulders, determined anew not to allow herself to be driven mad. Instead, she would bury herself in as much work as possible, leaving her little time to dwell on her mental and emotional turmoil

She'd have to... It was either move on or be devoured by fear.

As she found her feet again, something thumped against the closed door. Hastily, she wiped her tears, thinking that John had come looking for her, but then she heard it... an infernal growl. Nothing at all like the gentle snores and growls that had escaped John while he slept... but a deep, inhuman, unsettling growl that repeated itself... again... and again.

She stared in horror as the door shook and her body froze in a cold sweat.

The phantom was real after all.


	3. Chapter 2: Dan and Rebekah

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Dan and Rebekah**

Fe2O3 + H2SO4 ® Fe2(SO4)3 + H2O

Rebekah Rose copied the equation that Mr. Fields had just written on the board, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. He was going to kill her with these stupid equations. The rest of science she could handle... all of the fascinating facts about the world and the universe- yeah, great. But anything resembling math needed to go down the toilet.

Stepping back to the board, Mr. Fields grabbed her with a smile, reminding her of a goody-goody game show host as he directed his mirth around the room. "Don't let this stuff intimidate you, Folks," he began. "Don't get intimidated until we start reversing the equations." With a twitch of his brows, he tossed the piece of chalk in his hand, catching it and spinning in one, sleek move, giving all of the airheads in the front row another long look at his behind.

Some moron whispered something about Teacher's above average derriere, and Bekah rolled her eyes a second time as laughter flourished from one end of the room to the other.

Mr. Fields whirled from the blackboard, one eye closed, chin lifted. "I... am going to _pretend_ I didn't hear that," he said, and the laughter reached a crescendo, with some kids stomping on the floor, others covering their mouths, shoulders shaking.

Bekah began tapping her pencil, waiting for the idiots in the room to stop acting like idiots so that Fields would continue covering the blackboard with notes. If she didn't pass this semester, she'd be stuck here again- in the same room with Mr. GQ. No thanks.

The teacher's smile faded, his jaws clenched, and dark eyes threatened them all like storm clouds over a wide, open valley. The loudest laughter died first, followed by the snickering, and then the quiet shoulder shaking subsided, except for a few who couldn't seem to keep their giggles at bay.

Bekah raised a brow. The man at the front of the room formed another smile. "Now that you've all gotten a good dose of endorphins, let's turn to page 89 in your text books."

Only a few moans followed as the students opened their books, and Mr. Fields returned to his desk, his hand at the base of his black tie, sliding up, then back down as he perused his teacher's manual. Why he bothered with the ties was a mystery. She'd seen him tugging them so many times that she could sense the choking sensation and felt like ripping the dumb things off of him.

When she noticed his chocolate eyes plastered on her, she shook her head and began flipping the pages in her book. She wiped her forehead, finding page eighty nine. He's not hot, she reminded herself. _Forget his broad shoulders and the way his biceps sometimes strain his shirts. Yeah, forget it. He's a nerd. A goody-goody. A science geek! Like Dad._

Not only was Daddy Dearest a huge fan of Sci-Fi, but she'd often teasingly called him a geek for reading evolution books in place of his newspaper while sipping coffee at the dining room table. Mornings should be reserved for wake up juice and news- not deep, scientific literature. Still, Ted Rose wasn't a true geek, even if he did work at a computer company. If he didn't lose his temper every time his shoes were misplaced, or if he didn't join her and "Cousin" Diana during horror movie marathons, then she might label him a geek. Too nice, too straight.

Like Teacher- he was a geek because he seemed too good to be true: he never lost his temper, all the girls liked him, he often forced kids (even Bekah) to stay after class to go over screwed up tests and homework assignments, and her parents loved him. Why? Why did they love Mr. Fields? Because he called them on a regular basis to squeal on her, the creep!

It started the day that Bekah had bloodied Brian Cruise's nose:

_Brian Cruise's blaring, green eyes were the first to meet hers, and his laughter died away as he lowered his hand and smirked. Turning his baseball cap backwards on his blonde head, he asked, "What? Gonna cry?"_

_"No." Bekah formed a fist so tight that the blood pulsed wickedly through her knuckles and fingertips, her face hot and the urge to act rising as forcefully as the urge to vomit. Swinging that same fist, she shouted, "You are!" And with that, his shiny, white nose cracked and ejected a stream of blood._

_Shaking her hand, Bekah grimaced at the gore, which was hurriedly being patched by the jerkly jock's school jacket, his friends scrambling around him for support._

_She fell onto her seat with such force that the whole deskchair screeched against the floor, and she froze as she stared at what she'd done. Stared and heaved repeatedly, her hands shaking in tune with the laughter surrounding her._

_Black shoes appeared at her feet, and she looked up to find Mr. Fields... brows knit and jaws working._

She'd been freaked out by her reaction at first... but now she was glad she'd done it; even if she did fear some sort of retaliation. Brian, however, had told her he'd no intention of hitting a girl.

So, maybe he wouldn't hit her... but what else might he do?

She shuddered.

Anyway, Fields had hauled them both off to the incredibly insensitive principle', and had called her parents. Then he'd the audacity to ask why the label "Cheap Rose" had prompted her to "take violent action." DUH. If he didn't know her history by now, then... to heck with him. She wasn't about to tell him herself.

Ever since that ugly day in December, he'd been watching her like a criminal on probation, and every time she'd walk through his classroom door, he'd pocket his hands and nod. "How are you today, Miss Rose?" Obviously a sneaky way of asking, "You're not going to attack one of my students today, are you? Please tell me you're not!"

Ha. It would be hilarious if she just suddenly stood up with her books and started throwing them around the room- purposely missing people- just to freak him out. He obviously thought she was a psycho in the making, and that's why he kept reporting her every move to her parents.

When she'd limped into class after a night spent drowned in vodka and Coke, he'd snitched because Bekah wasn't "walking steadily" and had barely paid attention in class! Heck, he even called them when she'd thrown a wadded up note at Renee, her only cheerleader friend, who'd ditched school today.

"Miss Rose, are you paying attention?"

Bekah gritted her teeth, brushing her dark hair out of her face and lowering her pencil. Forcing a smile, she brought her eyes up to meet Teacher Dear, who raised a brow as though reading her irritation plain as day. With his chalk suspended right in front of the board, he asked, "Would you like to complete this equation?"

Why was he such a jerk?

She glanced around the room, noticing Brian in the front row with his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. She scowled. Behind him, Kevin Murphy sat with his sky blue eyes fixed on Bekah- not an uncommon occurrence. Normally, she paid no attention to the blond, business man in the making, who wore dress shirts and ties every single day of his life. Even weekends. He'd come to the bowling alley, where her mother worked, on a Saturday afternoon, wearing his typical nerd garb and carrying a brief case, of all things! Needless to say, he'd asked Bekah to join him for lunch, and needless to say, she'd declined as she'd shoved a quarter into the Miss Pac-Man machine.

That didn't stop her bratty, little sister, Kristin from sneaking up beside her and singing lowly, "Bekah and Kevin, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Miss Rose?" Fields prompted.

She bristled. "Yes?"

"Would you like to complete this equation?" He held the chalk out.

"Not really, but thanks for asking."

Ignoring the snickering that began to embellish the classroom, he smiled flatly and wiggled the blue writing utensil. "No, really, Miss Rose... I insist."

Scowling at his cocky grin, she felt heat rush to her face almost as intensely as the day she'd pounded Brian. Through gritted teeth, she replied, "Mr. Fields... why don't you just finish the friggin equation yourself so we can get on with business?"

"Ooohh..." someone muttered, and some of the others whispered as Chemistry Teacher Extraordinaire's mouth fell open.

Then a moan rose from somewhere outside and drifted through the open windows, and she released her breath as all heads turned in that direction. What the heck had come over her? She'd never, EVER spoken to a teacher like that, not even in private. Jeez, she was an idiot! An absolute idiot, because now Mr. Fields would be calling her parents AGAIN.

_God, now I'm going to be grounded all because I wouldn't humiliate myself in front of the entire class_! There was no way she'd be able to complete the stupid equation!

Another moan sounded- a long, mournful one that sent goosebumps up her torso, and some of the kids turned in their seats as though ready to run and peek outside.

"Stay seated," Fields ordered and strode over to the window, carefully pushing his swivel chair toward his paper-cluttered desk as he did so.

Barely sensing his own heartbeat, Dan lifted the blinds and panned the area directly below, and across Velmont Avenue. The blossomed trees partially blocked his view, but he could see traffic inching along the front of the school. Whoever had just passed beneath them may have wandered up the front stairs and into the inlet that lead to the entrance. Their wailing had sounded scarily close to Allison's cries... the day he'd found her on the bathroom, passed out...

_"Allison! Open the door!"_

_"Allie!"_

_Pounding louder than the beating shower water, Dan pointed. "Ryan, get the screwdriver out of the top desk drawer!"_

_Ryan bounded away, and Dan jingled the knob before banging his shoulder against the portal. "Allison, open up! Don't do this! Open the door!"_

_Bang! Blam! Crack! The splintering of wood echoed the pain shooting down his arm._

_"Move, Dan, I got it!" The taller man jammed the small screwdriver into the hole in the knob, hands shaking and metal rattling as he maneuvered the tip inside._

_"Let me," Dan snatched the tool and rammed it back into the notch. After rescuing Allie from purging sessions, he knew exactly how to- click! He threw the 'key' aside and flung the door open. He grabbed the frame, and Ryan cursed._

_"Oh, Lord, help us! Ryan, call 911!"_

_Ryan was already dialing. Dan lunged across the room and fell to his knees before the bathtub, where his sister hung limply over the edge, her hair dripping onto the floor while the shower continued its assault against the porcelain._

_God, please, don't tell me__... He grabbed her hand. It felt like ice. The pulse in her wrist was weak... but still there, thank God Almighty, still there._

_"Allison, we told you, Woman. We told you!" He yanked down a pink towel. For some reason, the prominent ribs in her back reminded him of the sickly cows that devoured the seven healthy ones in pharaoh's dream in the Old Testament in the Bible. Only in a famine should anyone ever look like this. Why, why, why was his baby sister starving herself to death?_

_He knew what had set it off, but after a certain point, she should have come to grips with-_

_She did, he reminded himself as he wrapped her in the large towel and carefully pulled her onto his lap. She'd been on her way to recovery, but something had knocked her back again. But what? What knocked her back down?_

After months of slowly adding calories to her daily intake, Allie had begun locking herself in her room at dinner time. Had she not continued to eat breakfast and lunch, he would have carted her off to the hospital; instead, he'd chosen to monitor everything she ate and to use every opportunity to nag the hell out of her.

One early morning before school he'd realized how insanely stupid he'd been to hold back; because, as he'd sipped his coffee and grinned at Rebekah Rose's feisty word choices in one of the papers she'd written, he'd heard the gags and the heaves from the upstairs bathroom. Lowering his mug, his blood had run cold as the reality of the situation settled on him. Allison had been fooling him. She'd been tossing her eggs and toast as though she'd consumed poisons that couldn't be allowed to fester for more than a few minutes.

His sister... was literally terrified of food.

_"OK, they're on their way." Breathing as though he'd just had the crap scared out of him (as he had), Ryan squatted next to Dan and pushed a lock of sopping hair away from their sister's face. "I can't believe she's gotten this bad again."_

_"I can't either."_

_"Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?"_

_"No." Dan began rocking as he rubbed Allie's arm. Her biceps hardly existed. Hardly at all._

_"But, Dan-"_

_"Dad will butt in and make matters worse. I don't want him any where near either one of you."_

_"I'm fine now."_

_"No you're not."_

_"Let's not start that again."_

_He tossed Ryan a glare, but his younger brother only challenged him with a raised brow._

_"Never mind it for now," Dan said. "We've just got to take care of Allie."_

_"Agreed."_

_Dan rested his head atop Allison's and closed his eyes. The tiny galaxy from the movie 'Men in Black' came swirling through his head, and he realized again that in the big scheme of things... the universe and everything in it... is actually that..._

_"Small," he said,__ and Ryan asked, "What?"_

_Clearing his throat, Dan added, "To God, Ryan... our problems are small."_

The ringing bell shook him back to the present, and he checked his watch, as if he needed to. Fourth period always released at 11:00.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he caught Rebekah gathering her books, lips pursed and eyes downcast as the other kids swarmed toward the exit. He smirked.

"Rebekah Rose, would you please remain?" he called above the circus of chattering kids. She froze with her black purse draped over the shoulder of the black, baggy sweater that hid the curvy figure she'd revealed in other outfits- like the red dress she'd worn to the holiday dance.

With big, brown eyes and long, shiny, brown hair, she was definitely a cute kid- but also the feisty. Not the feistiest, but feisty.

Even though this girl needed serious guidance, he'd inwardly cheered when she'd slugged Brian Cruise, because she'd accomplished the one thing he'd always encouraged timid, shy Allie to accomplish: she'd stood up to her tormentors. She'd shown the young punk that she wouldn't stand for his inane behavior, that she would not be harassed or bullied. Maybe the bloody nose was a bit overboard, but hell... at least she got her point across, and at least he hadn't heard anyone refer to her as 'Cheap Rose' since then.

What happened wasn't her fault. Shameful that so many people judge and mistreat others based on appearances instead of facts.

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and waited for the last of his students- except for the few who normally hung around during their lunch period- to clear out of the room.

Rebekah cocked her jaw. "Ok... I'm sorry, Teacher... I shouldn't have been such a brat..."

Hitting Allison's speed dial, he shook his head. "Not so fast, Rose. I've got a call to make, and then we need to talk."

Amy Wilkinson, who remained in her seat in the back of the room, frowned up at him as a busy tone rang in his ears. Puzzled, he hung up and hit the button again, this time meeting Amy's big, blue eyes. She was a chunky girl, quiet and pale, much like Allison was at that age. He'd been trying to help her-

"We're sorry, all circuits are busy now."

Rebekah sidled over to his desk, hugging her books and twisting her lips as she scanned over his papers and briefcase. He called Ryan's cell, and Rebekah set her books atop the scattered homework assignments he'd been grading.

Her eyes darkened, and she sighed. "Please don't call my parents... can't I just make this up to you somehow?" She batted her lashes.

The ringing ceased, and he set the phone down, deciding to try again in a few minutes. Thanks to the idiotic, unpredictable cell phone towers, he'd probably wind up jogging to the teachers' lounge to call his siblings.

"Who said I'm calling your parents?" he asked. He'd called them too many times, being the young, sometimes overzealous and sometimes nervous, new teacher that he was. There are times, he'd decided, when helping a student might require keeping secrets. Why phone her parents over one, smart-alec remark? She was a seventeen-year-old girl, for Pete's sake. If he couldn't reason with her as a young adult, then maybe he hadn't developed proper reasoning skills.

If his father had taught him anything, it was this: know your enemy and form a bridge. Of course, Oliver Fields usually wound up burning the bridges he'd built, and Rebekah wasn't exactly an enemy- but the basic idea could be applied here.

This thought presently felt like his life line, and his spirit strove to grab it, to hold onto it for the next time his doubts resurfaced. Trying to balance reason with action sometimes felt like walking a tight rope, with mad sharks on one side and quicksand on the other. More accurately, it felt as though he were walking that tight rope while guiding his siblings, his students... anyone who'd ever meant anything to him.

_Maybe all you see is your own little, corporate world, but let me remind you of a very important fact: your world is just one of many spinning endlessly around some central point in the solar system. Your solar system is only one of many, spinning endlessly around some central point in the galaxy. _

_Let's say you're a planet. Every spin, every revolution you take affects the course of another planet. If you start to wobble or stray from your path, catastrophe would be the result for someone else._

_I can't keep everyone afloat. What happened to Ryan wasn't my fault._

But maybe it was his fault that Allie had slipped as far as she had.

He swallowed and reached to loosen his tie, while Rose cocked her head to the side and studied him through narrowed eyes.

Julia White, a brunette cheerleader who often remained after class to flirt, giggled from her position near the window, and Carl Reed leaned across the aisle, whispering loudly about God only knew what.

About time Julia flirted with someone her own age, he mused as Rose asked, "So, what do you want? What's my punishment for being a brat?"

Her punishment? He almost chuckled, but instead perked a brow at her- an action which invoked the ever-annoying, teenage eye-rolling.

"I want you to write," he said flatly and began stacking some of his papers into a neat pile.

"Write? Get real, are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Why?"

"Because you're a talented writer." He began tapping the stack on the desk. "Why don't you release some of that pent up spite on paper?"

"Excuse me?"

He met her gaze and held it. Did she really think he hadn't discovered the meaning behind the "Cheap Rose"? He glanced at the other kids, knowing that to expound in front of them would invite nosy ears, so he simply refocused on his now pale-faced student and shook his head.

"We'll talk about the specifics later. I won't read your paper, but that's your assignment."

She opened her mouth, and a shrill scream filled the room. His shoulders shook as though having minds of their own, and he squared them again as Rose's mouth closed and a second scream erupted. It wasn't until then that he realized the scream hadn't originated from her. Frowning at one another, they both peered into the hallway, where a female student had been tackled to the ground. The boy on top of her had...

Dan felt his face blanch as he noticed the blood running toward the floor and the flesh caught in the boy's teeth. His wild, milky eyes locked onto them.

"Oh, my God!" Rebekah heaved and sprinted toward the exit.

"Rose!" Dan dropped his papers and lunged after her. "Wait, Rose!"


	4. Chapter 3: John

**CHAPTER THREE**

**John**

**Fear**

_Fear of memories_

_Fear of fear_

_Fear of red eyes_

_Glaring there_

_Fear of guilt_

_Fear of night_

_Fear for Pearl_

_Who lost her right_

_Fear of leaving_

_Fear of staying_

_Fear of losing_

_Fear of gaining_

_Fear of letting go_

_Fear of holding on_

_Fear of time_

_As it marches on_

_Fear of memories_

_Fear of doubt_

_Fear that love_

_Will just run out_

_-Diana Hawthorne_

John began massaging his head as he rolled onto his back with a wince and a moan. Sleeping on Diana's floor had become increasingly difficult as John grew older and took on heavier labor, thanks to his father's booming business. He could have chosen lighter work, and he'd even considered teaching and dentistry. Teaching, because it would allow him to learn and grow while helping others do the same; and dentistry... would bring in a nice paycheck with no hard labor and the ability to work with neat, little tools. Teeth didn't fascinate him in the slightest, but at least he wouldn't be sitting behind a desk all day, and he'd be able to talk to all sorts of different people. Though, with his hands shoved inside their mouths, the patients wouldn't be able to reply much.

But maybe it was better that way, if the patient was a know-it-all or a foul-mouthed punk like the one he worked with.

_"You care about her, don't you, John?"_

_Loud sawing delayed John's response. "Of course I do! That goes without saying, doesn't it?"_

_Tom whistled. John and Sammy turned to him as he grinned. "What guy wouldn't care?" He whistled again, and John stared at the twenty-three-year-old weasel with the bronze skin and mirrored sunglasses. _

_You'd better shut up!_

_"Ignore him," Sammy cautioned, but John continued to glare as Tom added, "I mean, Diana is hot! If I were you, I'd-"_

_Dropping his saw, John shot to his feet with his fists clenched. "You'd better stop while you're ahead!"_

_The punk raised his arms in self-defense. "All right, all right! Sheesh, you're touchy!"_

_"Things are bad enough with your lewd descriptions!"_

_Tom snickered. "Who said I was going to say anything lewd?"_

_"You're always talking trash about women, so what else am I supposed to think?"_

_"All right, John... I won't say another word. I keep forgetting what a 'Boy Scout' you are!"_

"Punk" was too nice a word to describe Tom, who'd no idea how close John had been to knocking his lights out. John had never 'belted' anyone, but Tom Benson deserved it about as much as that little, lusty-eyed pain in the butt, Greg Wilson.

The problem was- he couldn't kick anyone into the next millennium without drawing blood, and sadly, a tall, hard working man like himself couldn't tolerate the sight of the red, crimson fluid for even a few moments.

A couple of months ago, he'd ripped his finger open on an old nail while tossing a two by four into the back of his van. When the blood squirted from the wound, he'd nearly lost his lunch on his work boots, and that had put a damper on any dreams of breaking Tom's nose the next time he ogled Diana. She rarely showed up on the jobsites, but when she did, the heads turned.

Punks. They all needed their eyes ripped out and shoved down their stinkin' throats. Not only should they show more respect, but Diana was too unsteady to deal with their advances, anyway.

Not that John would _let_ them advance.

He sat up, finding Diana's bed empty, and groaned as he rolled onto his knees. Yanking his discarded pajama top from the floor, he stood and marched into the hallway, rubbing his eye and hearing nothing but a faint scratching sound coming from his parents' bedroom. No giggles bursting through Diana's pretty lips as she read the Comics with a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies nearby. He couldn't even hear his mother berating her for not choosing a healthy breakfast, so that meant the two women were either in the rec room, or that Diana had gone for one of her morning walks.

Without him.

He gritted his teeth, remembering how she'd run out of the bedroom last night, pale faced and breathless, and later swearing that her mind had been playing tricks on her- that she'd thought she'd seen something in the closet.

No doubt her imagination had gone wild, but why? Why did Greg Wilson's ghost stories seem to be affecting her two years after they'd split up? What in the name of all things sacred had she been hiding from him? Why wouldn't she open up? Had she forgotten that John been her best friend since childhood, or that he'd never shown anything but care for her?

Why did she keep having these episodes? Only last week, he'd watched her eyes widen at the wall just before she'd reached half-hazardly into the oven to retrieve some cookies, and needless to say she'd nearly burnt her hand to a crisp! And she would have, had he not pulled her back in time.

He stomped into his bedroom and tossed the shirt onto his neatly made bed and ran a hand through his hair to constrain the annoying, little spikes that often popped up throughout the course of his day- and night. He squinted across the room. A speck of light on the desk beneath the window revealed the location of his glasses. After he'd retrieved them, he sat on the edge of his bed, facing his dresser, and ripped a Swiss Army knife from one of the drawers.

As he pushed out a blade and gingerly 'scooped' the dirt from under his nail, he recalled when Diana's odd behavior had begun...

_Hearing a gasp, he sat up and squinted at his alarm clock, which told him it was three in the morning. Straining to listen, he reached for his glasses, and shook his head as quiet weeping crossed the darkened hallway. _

_It had been a few years since he'd made a middle-of-the-night trek to comfort Diana, and he wasn't too thrilled about having to do it now. He'd worked his butt off, digging holes for fence posts, and his stomach felt like he'd swallowed lead- no wonder, after eating Allison Jones' sickeningly salty cookies at the church hayride. He'd been tempted to ask her if she'd used salt in place of sugar, but she'd been so bright eyed and upbeat that he'd hated to spoil her mood-and God knows that if you insult a flighty, flirty girl like her, you're bound to be wearing your drink._

_In one move, he shoved away the blankets and reached for his blue robe on the end of the bed. When he stood outside of Diana's door, he listened for a moment. What had Greg done to her? He couldn't think of anything she'd be crying over, unless it involved Greg, or simply the fact that she still missed Crystal._

_Knocking lightly on the door, he quietly said her name. No answer, so he slowly pushed the door open. A petite form trembled beneath the floral bedspread, dark locks that covered the pillow illuminated under the Garfield light on the nightstand. _

_Tying his robe, he shuffled over and sat on the bed, facing the window and staring up the stars. At times, God felt as far away as the heavenly host, and John wasn't sure why or how to fill this growing void inside of him. Sometimes he ignored it, but other times- it just seemed that no matter how hard he worked or read the Bible or resisted old temptations that somehow he'd missed the mark. If he wasn't sure what to think about his own soul, how could he properly help Diana? _

_Placing a hand on her quivering shoulder, he whispered her name, but she began to cry harder. It was very rare for Diana to cry like this, so he knew that whatever was troubling her was troubling her very deeply._

_"Talk to me, Diana..."_

_"Can't a single tear slide down my cheeks without you hearing it?" she asked breathlessly._

_He pulled on her shoulder so that she would flip onto her back. When she turned, her tears glimmering under the small amount of light in the room, John wiped her cheek with the back of his hand. "No," he whispered. "I guess not."_

_She sat up suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and laid her head against his chest. He returned her embrace, feeling the slight dampness of her hair from her earlier shower. _

_Anger stewed inside of him, but he kept a lid on it so she wouldn't notice. It was Greg he was angry with, not Diana. "What happened?"_

_She didn't respond. Patience was not always one of his virtues. "Tell me! Is it Greg?"_

_When she sobbed harder, he knew it was. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? What did he do?"_

_Diana's sobs were growing louder, so he broke away from her to close her door. If his parents butted in, Diana would completely close up and leave him wondering and worrying all night long._

_When he sat on the bed again, he probed, "Did he come on to you?"_

_She just stared with her head down. _

_"Come on," he said. "I promise... I won't do anything. Just tell me the truth." He knew it would be hard to keep that promise, but as long as Greg hadn't done anything worthy of a thorough beating, he would keep it._

Maybe Greg was the one he should be targeting now. Maybe an introduction to his hammer would finally burst the dam!

But he couldn't introduce Greggy-Boy to his hammer without drawing blood. Not that he should do it anyway, he sighed as he pushed the blade back in place. For someone who'd always hated horror movies, he'd plenty of violent thoughts.

He sat there for a few moments, rubbing his head and wondering for the thousandth time in the past few years how he could get Diana to tell the truth. How... how could their relationship proceed without complete honesty?

He swallowed and drew in a deep breath, but felt those annoying tears pricking the backs of his eyes.

"_It's OK to cry, Son," his father said as he knelt next to him. "I know this isn't easy, and no one would think less of you for crying." _

Enough of that, he decided, and found his feet. Even as he shrugged his shoulders to loosen the muscles, his jaws stiffened, and he frowned at the shelf above his dresser.

After a beat, he scooted the red and white striped model of Marblehead Lighthouse from the center of the Oak ledge to the end, where it belonged. This was at least the fifth time it had been moved. He'd asked his mother and Diana if they'd been dusting in his room, but both denied being in here.

"Why would I dust your room, Ken?" Diana had rolled her eyes. "I don't even dust my own!"

So he'd noticed.

John rarely dusted, either, but neatness... neatness was an absolute must if he wanted to be on time to work and live a halfway decent life. That was why he'd designated a place for everything, and made sure everything was in its place before turning out the lights every night. He'd just finished smoothing out his blue bedspread when Diana had barreled into the hallway last night.

He'd find out what that was about after he showered, he decided as he chucked the knife back onto the dresser top and headed into the hallway.

When he reached into the closet near the bathroom, something thumped, and the floor shook. John peeked around the around the corner toward his parents' room, wondering if he should check. The dead silence was a bit unnerving, and usually his parents were up by now, but... maybe they wanted some 'alone time'...

_Don't go there, John. _

As he reached for the bathroom door knob, he thought he heard something like a howl, and paused. After listening for a moment, he opened the door and stepped inside. No sooner had he draped the towel over the rack than he heard it- a scream so high pitched that he imagined the resonance shattering the windows.

He lunged across the small room, reaching for the warbled window and sliding the pane upwards. Waving arms drew him directly toward Diana, who stood atop the clubhouse near the skylight.

"Di, what's wrong?" he yelled, his heart throbbing with the realization that this question was far too commonplace. "What is it?"

"Help me!" she shrieked, pointing downwards and sending chills up his spine as he considered climbing out the window. She'd never burst into hysterics like this before. "There's - something in there!" she went on. "I'm afraid to jump down, there's more at the gate!"

"What are you talking about?"

He heard a moan.

"Help me, please!" she pleaded and sank to her knees to peek through the skylight into the loft.

More moans sounded from around the house, where the gate was located, so he shot away from the window, into the hall, and flew down the stairs in two, huge leaps, rattling the house when he hit the bottom; and then he flew down the second set of stairs to the rec room. Passing his father's locked gun cabinet, he grabbed his old baseball bat from the corner near the front window, since all his tools were presently locked inside his van, and ran toward the back door. Afraid of blood or not, he might have to draw some.

He passed the deck and whizzed toward the clubhouse, hearing growls and snarls that seemed to be erupting all around him. As he scanned the swimming pool area and reached for the clubhouse doorknob, Di jumped up and screamed, "John, be careful! Don't open the door!"

"What?" he jerked his head up and found tears streaking from her wild, golden eyes, her hair badly disheveled, and her blouse torn enough to reveal the cup of her bra.

Hearing what seemed to be multiple fists assaulting the wooden gate, he reached for her, his head pounding from the force of the adrenalin coursing through his veins. "Are you hurt?" He cursed. If anyone had-

"Don't go in there!" she screamed. "Don't!"

He thought he heard wood splintering and released a string of swear words. He'd left his cell phone inside the house, so calling for help was out of the question. Where were his parents? How could they remain oblivious to all this commotion?

The door in front of him jumped. He hopped back. Moans and growls mingled with thumps that rattled off like a machine gun, and Diana leaned over the roof so that her curls invaded her face. She pointed at the balcony that he and his father had constructed for a small child.

Her voice wavered and cracked with hysteria. "Get up here! Get up here now!"

"Climb down on the balcony and let's get inside. I heard the gate splintering!"

"I'm not getting down! Those are zombies!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Zombies!" she shouted as she pounded her thigh with her fist. "I've watched enough horror films with Rebekah to know!"

"Impossible, Diana, now-"

Diana straightened and spun. "Johhhnn!"

He followed her pointed finger.

Slowly limping toward them was a man dressed in a torn, blood soaked dress shirt, his tie flapping in the wind, and his teeth bared. The gaping, crimson wound in his cheek hit John in the stomach. He wretched, dropping the bat and leaning over with his hands on his thighs.

An alarm began to squawk from in front of the house, and John cursed the fact that someone had apparently broken into his van. So not only was there a mad man locked in the clubhouse and one limping toward them, but his tools were being stolen in the midst of the mayhem.

"Please!" Diana sobbed. "Get up here before he bites you!"

Despite the sweat beading on his forehead and the rolling of his stomach, he smirked. He could still see Di as the little girl with spiral pigtails, pointing at the 'ghosts' walking the streets during Trick or Treat. "They're real, Don," she'd said.

Now she was insisting that zombies were real.

Not funny.

"John, please!"

He heard the balcony creek, and looked up to find her kneeling there with her arms outstretched as her gaze shot between him and the approaching fiend. Her sobs racked her shoulders. "Please," she cried, and managed to grip his shoulder. "Get up here, now, friggin _NOW_!"

"Di," he rasped, his stomach beginning to settle. "Get back up, and I'll-"

The door flew open, barely missing him as he jumped back. Diana screeched and withdrew her hand, and a pale-faced, milky-eyed horror stared back him. He recognized the graying-blonde hair and the light green pantsuit.

"Mom?" He blinked, wiping his forehead and squinting, and the woman snarled...just before she charged.


End file.
